


in love with a fairytale

by orphan_account



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen, he's a precious stupid cupcake, leave paris alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Charming always saves the princess in the end. He's always the hero. Paris has always wanted to be Prince Charming. (Written for Day One of Romeo and Juliet week.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	in love with a fairytale

In every story, Prince Charming was always the hero- the handsome, noble savior who swept into the story at the very last moment to save the princess from her doom. Be it dragons, witches, or evil curses, the prince never feared anything; with his trusty sword and his noble steed, he could take down any foe. He was the hero; he was the one people revered, who never failed to save the day and get the girl he loved. From the early days of his childhood, Paris had always known who he was meant to be; he was Prince Charming. He was the hero of the story, and one day he was going to get to save the day.

He was raised with everyone around him- fathers, mothers, doting aunts, uncles, and cousins- telling him that he was the best. As he grew, it was an unspoken fact; he was the perfect Prince Charming.

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t very good at his schoolwork, or that he had no clue how to manage money or oversee a household; he could win duels, he had more wealth than he’d ever need to spend, and he was a relation to the prince. Everything he could ever want in life was set up to come to him.

And then there was Juliet.

He had just finished his college tour of Europe and returned to Verona when his parents had announced that they had found him a wife. He had always wanted to marry, because it would be what was expected of him; so at the prospect of finally meeting his “princess”, he felt thrilled. He had never loved a woman before; but he had little doubt that, given patience and a good wife, he would be able to. He was twenty-three years old when he met her for the first time.

She was young, true, younger than he would have liked; but oh, she was beautiful. He spoke to her barely more than thrice before their wedding night was decided; and each time she had smiled, she had laughed, and she had been everything he had imagined he would find in a wife. He didn’t love her, but he knew that he _could_ , and he wanted to. She was fair, she was gentle, she was merry, and she was his.

But of course things had to go wrong. It was only logical, Paris had thought at the time; in stories, something always goes wrong before Prince Charming can get to be the hero. Tybalt died, Juliet was heartbroken, and it was Paris’ time; it was his chance to come in and sweep her off her feet. They were to marry, and all her pain would be forgotten.

But Juliet did not wait. Juliet died.

The day after Juliet’s death, Paris remained in the quarters given to him by the Capulets, and he struggled to understand. He had never seen death before; no one close to him had ever died. It seemed so bafflingly permanent; so irreversible. That someone could be here one minute, beautiful and illuminated and full of life, and the next be gone, was a terrifying prospect.

He hadn’t been given the chance to save the day, to be the hero, because Juliet had died. He had never felt more confused in his life; this wasn’t how the story was supposed to go. Never had he read a story where the princess died, for good, before her hero ever had a chance to rescue her. Paris felt robbed, furious at circumstances, at Romeo, and at himself; and he even grieved. He grieved for the girl who should have been his wife, and who now lay in eternal stillness in her family’s tomb.

It was not the end of the world for him, but it might as well have been; all of his illusions about himself, his position, and his role in the world were irreparably fractured. Life was such an incredibly fickle thing; and for the first time, he found himself questioning if he was really Prince Charming after all. All the money, the looks, and the bravery in the world hadn’t been able to help Juliet; they’d brought him far in the world, but how far could they really bring him? Juliet had loved so deeply, had felt such grief for her cousin that she had died of a broken heart; Paris had never cared for anyone that way. What had his life been?

When he went to the tomb Thursday night, all he sought was to understand. Perhaps seeing Juliet there, giving her the flowers he had never gotten to give her on their wedding day, would somehow bring everything to sense; his thoughts would sort themselves out at the sight of Juliet’s face, and his confidence would be restored.

He had hoped, but he was mistaken; when his eyes fell on Juliet, lying in her fair state of death, every whim urged him to go running out into the cemetery once more. She was still beautiful; oh, she was more beautiful than ever! But it was an unnatural state; a sleep from which she would never awake. Life had fled her, and Paris was left more confused than ever; this was his princess, and she was dead. The wedding that might have been, the life they might have had; there it lay with her.

He had never intended to die there. He had never planned to do gentle Juliet such a disservice. But when he’d heard the footsteps in the dark and had seen Romeo enter the chamber, one thing had become crystal clear to him. He could still be the hero; his story wasn’t up. Romeo, foul Romeo who had slain his love’s cousin and in turn slain Juliet herself, had come to undoubtedly do further disservice to her body. Paris could stop him now; and he would.

Romeo begged him; he’d pleaded with him; but Paris, in his righteousness, would not listen. he had to keep Romeo away from Juliet; he needed to be the Prince defending his princess from the monster, just as he had always been born to be. It had never occurred to him that he might die.

Not until Romeo’s sword was sticking from his chest, and rapidly, rapidly, he could feel the blood spilling out and life leaving his body. Never before had Paris been certain of one thing more than he was in that moment; he was about to die.

“Lay me… in the tomb with Juliet…” he had gasped as he’d fallen at Romeo’s feet; the youth, haggard and wild eyes, had gazed down at him with something akin to pity.

Prince Charming was never supposed to die; but at least, thought Paris as he lay slumped against the tomb wall, his eyes slowly sliding shut, he had died nobly. If in life he’d lived wanting to be a hero, in death he had become one.

Even if he hadn’t been Juliet’s Prince Charming, this, to Paris, was the best he could have asked for. His eyes slipped shut, his hand still clutched around the hilt of his rapier, and he was still.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for Romeo and Juliet week- Day One! It's about Paris, precious child that he is. Paris (my interpretation, at least, though some of them are delightfully skeevy) is like that puppy who'll repeatedly and purposefully ram headfirst into a mirror because his thinks he can fight his own reflection. Only Paris would never fight his own reflection, because he loves it too much.


End file.
